TSC: A Year Without Birdsong
by AvenJackel
Summary: SEQUEL TO THE SPARROW CHRONICLES! After making the most difficult decision of her life, our young heroine is about to face some of her biggest monsters, one of them being herself. Without the safety of the League or the Team protecting her, will young Sparrow be able to do what is right? Or will everything go just as Khaos plans...? DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1

** Hello my wonderfully beautiful readers! It feels great to be back again on the Young Justice fanfiction section! I have seriously missed writing this story! And I'm sorry that it took so long to get back!**

** To all my followers, thank you for sticking with me! I hope I didn't disappoint anyone!**

** And, to anyone who didn't get the memo that this is a SEQUEAL, you might want to go back and read ****The Sparrow Chronicles****. I know it's pretty long, but you could probably start reading around the 70****th**** or 80****th**** chapter to the end and still get most of the storyline to understand this one better. I guess you **_**could**_** read this one alone, but I'm probably not going to reiterate my character's life-story, so you may get confused!**

** Anywho!**

** I know this chapter is a bit shorter than my normal quota (sorry about that!), but I think it ends on a good note to set the mood for this installment of ****TSC****, so I don't want to hear any complaining!**

** Thank you all for coming to my story!**

** Disclaimer: I don't own ANYTHING! Well...except for my own original characters...and my own plotlines too...**

** And, without further ado, I give you ****THE SPARROW CHRONICLES: A YEAR WITHOUT BIRDSONG****!**

** Hope you all like it!**

** ~AvenJackel**

"_By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest."_

– Confucius

The soft glow of a full moon illuminated the rain spattered streets. Cold wisps of wind floated through the dingy, brick alleyways, mingling with the barely noticeable sound of shuffling feet and feeble coughing. Every so often, the whisper of cars in the distance echoed off the walls.

On the edge of a building's roof, a lithe black figure perched themselves, crouching and staring intently down at the huddles of homeless people below. It was a humanoid, all features indiscernible and covered by dark colored, skin-tight armoring.

With cat-like grace, the figured straightened up, revealing the crimson marking against their chest. It was a backwards 'K', encircled by a simple crosshair. Their face was covered by a blank, black mask, the light from the moon skimming across the surface and masquerading as a mere shadow.

A glove clad hand reached for the slim belt resting on their waist. With a quick, practiced flick of the wrist, a menacing dagger was sliding into the figure's palm, fitting perfectly with a worn grip. One last cough rose up from the ground below, and then the person was on the ground, easily melting into the surrounding shadows.

Silent steps brought them to the source of the coughing, a group of travel-worn men, nearly ten of them, all in their mid-forties. Their clothes were haggard, as were their weary faces and broken eyes. They crowded around a meager fire, freezing hands held out towards the flames in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

One man, whose ashen eyes seemed to shift with lingering suspicion, turned with a fretful crane of the neck and faced the dancing shadows behind him. Before a single lungful of putrid air could be taken, a deft blade struck out, slicing the delicate skin of the man's throat, his fresh blood spilling onto the icy concrete.

The smothered thud of the homeless man's body met the ears of the others, and their heads snapped in the direction almost simultaneously. Eyes widened before drowning in unconcealed fear and the men struggled to move back, their feet too numb to provide much help from the oncoming terror.

If it was any consolation to the local police, the men managed to have a fast, and rather blissful, death. At least, that's what they'll have the luck to think. In reality, none of the men were spared until their final screams echoed through the night sky. What the police wouldn't know was that the very thing that had killed these dispensable men was preparing to kill some of the world's most influential people.

This thing, now stained in sticky blood, stepped away from the bodies which littered the filthy ground, picked up the single dagger that had caused all the mens' deaths, and slipped into the darkness, relaxing in the coolness of the shadows as if it was home.

The image flickered, grainy specs of gray scattering across the footage. An irritating buzzing noise only added to my already high frustration and my hand curled into a tight fist, my nails digging into the flesh of my palm.

Before I could really help myself, my fist broke through the glass screen, shattering with a harsh sound and burying itself into my knuckles. The sharp, cloying scent of blood reached my nose before the sound of liquid spilling onto the white-tiled floor echoed throughout the laboratory.

My teeth grated against each other in an attempt to calm myself. I shook my injured hand, droplets of blood falling to the ground. The anger roiling in my stomach and boiling my blood kept the pain away, and I opted to simply ignore the wound for now.

In that surveillance video, the very figure that had murdered several men in cold-blood, that was the person that I, more than anything else in the world, hated. That was the person that, nearly a year ago, had killed me. The figure was the person that was willing to hurt anyone just to get what they wanted. And more than anything, I wish that I could kill them.

Because that person was me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you, my lovely readers (and especially my reviewers)! You guys are awesome! This is an IMPORTANT NOTE: TSC is about to get **_**really**_** confusing! Seriously, more than half the stuff in this sequel will directly contradict what I've stated in the first! There is a good reason why my story is going to be so confusing, so please bear with me! All will be answered in the long run!**

** Please review!**

** ~AvenJackel**

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

_**Five months earlier...**_

I lay perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. The air was stale, tainted with the heavy stench of city smog and smothering dirt. My nose was clogged with the scent, causing my head to spin uneasily. But I closed my eyes and forced myself to focus on the matter at hand: the assassination of a business CEO.

It was hard to be nervous. After all, I'd been at this business all my life. This is what I've been trained for. Now was a chance to prove myself to the Boss.

But it wasn't hard to feel guilty. I didn't know why, as the guilt seemed so trivial. Why _**should**_ I feel like that? It wasn't like these people had much to live for anyway! These people threatened to injure and damage the work of the Boss first! None of them were even real _**people**_!

So why did I care so much?

Sweeping the thought under a rug, I focused on the crosshair of the sniper in front of me. I was positioned in a vacant warehouse (how cliché, right?), my target being two buildings away. There was only going to be one chance. If I failed, the Boss would order my head on a silver platter.

Of course, I wasn't going to fail.

The sniper was modified in a special order, made directly by one of my fellow accomplices. Luckily, there was no annoying red dot like many of the government issues. But that also poised the problem of aim. I would have to be extremely careful, ensure that I got a death kill on CEO Georgia Williams, of Williams and Booth Industries, a leading company in government weapon development.

Georgia ruled her hand-me-down company with an iron-first, allowing only perfection. It sort of reminded me of the Boss. But Georgia was cruel. And she certainly looked the part, as well. With long graying hair, withering face, and drawn eyes, she always reminded me of a hag, or maybe a banshee.

Either way, this lousy woman was going to drop dead.

A one-way speaker was nestled in my ear, so I could hear everything that was happening in the room. Georgia and a business investor had been talking about boring investments and business ledgers. There was a shuffling of movement and a scrawny figure stopped in front of the window my sniper was focused in on. In a single instant, my finger pulled the trigger, the gun rocking back against my shoulder slightly as the bullet was blasted at nearly two-thousand miles per hour.

There was the shattering of glass, the thump of a body hitting the floor, the screams of terror from all other occupants of the room. I didn't stay to watch the scene unfold. In seconds, I was packing up the sniper, stuffing it into an inconspicuous book bag before straightening up and hurrying out of the building.

My quick movements made my stiff back feel even worse, probably from last night, and all my moves seemed almost...sluggish to me. I hadn't gotten a good's night rest in what felt like ages, and today was no exception.

Heading downtown, I managed to avoid any suspicion. Luckily, it was right around the time for school to be getting out, so I didn't seem quite different from any students rushing about. Police and ambulance drove by, their sirens screeching as they passed me.

The pickup point was six blocks from the warehouse I had used. I was nearing block three by the time the murder had reached the news. Damn. Apparently, I hadn't moved fast enough, I still had three blocks to go and they were already out for the killer.

But, it wasn't like there was any need for me to worry. They were off looking for someone obvious, not a kid like me. I had been doing this for years by now, I was confident in my abilities, as well as my accomplices.

I reached a subway on a busy main road, taking the steps in ones so as not to attract any attention to myself. There were hundreds of people down below, and I easily blended into the frantic racing about of all the oblivious civilians.

By the time my subway car was off with me in it, I had spotted my contact. He was a gangly man, with graying hair, weak eyes, and a meager frame. This man was a whimpering idiot with no point to live any longer. His name was Jerry Kingsly, and he was the one that had given me the tip off for Georgia.

"Good work, kid," he murmured, coming to stand beside me. "You're becoming a pro at this."

"_**Becoming**_?" I scoffed harshly. "You're nothing but a fool and a waste of my time. Don't make me angry by insulting my skills," I spat under my breath.

"It was a compliment," Mr. Kingsly muttered.

Shooting him a loathing glare, he shrunk back slightly, fidgeting and glancing nervously at the backpack I was wearing.

"How's the Boss?" he inquired.

"What does it matter?" I grumbled, crossing my arms. "If I told you, I might just have to off you here and now," I threatened seriously.

"You wouldn't," Jerry started hesitantly.

"I'd have to. But don't worry, I would get out of here quicker than you can call for help," I smirked humorlessly. "So, whatever you do, _**don't**_ push it."

"I've learned the easy way to never cross paths with the like of you," he whispered. "And it is a lesson I will lead the rest of my life with. No worries on my half."

"Oh, there are always worries, Mr. Kingsly."

"Like what?"

"Doesn't matter," I shrugged it off. "Just know that, as long as you stay loyal to the Boss, no harm from the outside will come to you or your family."

"Is that the same agreement you made for your own family?" he questioned, finally gaining some balls.

I clenched my hands into tight fists, the skin across my knuckles turning white. "Say that again, and I swear to whatever godly being you believe in that I _**will**_ kill you," I ground out, barely containing my rage.

Who was this daft moron to make comments on my family like that? What family was he even speaking of? All my family was already with the Boss, I didn't need to worry about anyone else!

Then why did I get the feeling that everything wasn't as it seemed?

"Sorry," he apologized quickly. "I was just trying to start conversation."

Our subway train pulled to a halt, the doors sliding open and people pouring out into the filthy station of New York.

"You should know to _**never**_ start conversations with people of my affiliation," I murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

And then I merged into the surrounding shadow, leaving the cowardly man to glance around worriedly in every direction.

Even as I was heading back towards HQ, I couldn't help but think about Georgia Williams, and how her ten-year-old grandson would react to the news of her death.

But..._**why**_?

Assassins didn't have consciences.

_**I**_ didn't have a conscience.


	3. Chapter 3

"Bona venatio, soror?" a dark-haired man murmured as I strode briskly through the dim hallways towards the Boss' office.

"Sicut semper," I muttered in annoyance. All the idiots around here always asked me the same frickin questions. Trust me, it got incredibly old after so many times.

The halls were stark white, and, aside from the lighting, resembled a finely kept hospital. Few people passed by me as I made my way through the pathways. My hands were in my black skinny jeans pockets, while my shoulder-length blonde hair was covered by my black hoodie.

By the time I had reached the Boss' door, I hadn't encountered any others. Reaching up with a fisted hand, I was about to knock when the Boss' casually strong voice called "Enter". He always knew when we were out front. I had always thought that he was psychic, even more so than any Martians I knew.

Except, I didn't _**know**_ any Martians...Why would I think that I did?

I slipped past the door and into the dark room. The Boss had never liked brightness; he always claimed it was because his soul was too dark to survive it. But I thought that was a load of crap. It was so dark I could hardly make out the mahogany desk or the figure of the Boss as he reclined in his favorite chair behind it.

"Target 957-G has been dealt with, sir," I kneeled before him, bowing my head as was custom in the 'family', as the Boss referred to us as.

"Rise," he ordered, and I quickly complied. "You're good, Filia," he nodded in satisfaction.

"Thank you, Pater," I replied solemnly. The Boss was the matriarch, the father, the leader, the _**everything**_ in our organization. To us, he was a valuable asset, only to be addressed as 'Sir', 'Boss', or even 'Father' if he was in an especially good mood. But, to those that threatened us, to those that hated our ideals, hated what we did and how we handled ourselves, Father was known as Khaos.

Although I'd never admit it, the name 'Khaos' always sent chills down my spine.

"I think you're ready for a..._**promotion**_ of sorts," Father remarked. "There's a certain loose end I need you to deal with. A petty jewel thief in Romania," he informed me solemnly.

"I will take care of it, Pater," I assured him, smirking deviously. "Should I go for silent or showy?" I inquired.

He pretended to think for a second. "I think we're in for a silent kill, don't you?"

"Yes, Father," I bowed, turning on my heel and heading back into the hall.

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

Romania was a beautiful place, even when the skies were gray and overcast with the rains of April, thunder and lightning puncturing the sky. The grasses were so green, even in the rain, and the buildings retained their brilliant hues. Luckily for me, Romania also happened to have a terrible law system. It wasn't going to be hard to finish my job.

My target was Alexander Tallik, a jewel thief that had once worked for the Boss. After fifteen years of stealing for the organization, Alex managed to pull out in order to raise his little son and daughter. He had left the safety and protection of the Boss. The man was a coward, a wimp, a fool.

Those were the worst kind of people.

Pulling my mask down over my face, I gazed out through the thermal imaging screen, giving me a perfect depiction of where the people were in the cozy little rural home. The dark of night covered my movements as I easily snuck up to the back of the tiny house, and the thunder concealed any of my sound.

My job was simple enough. Get in, kill Alex without being seen or heard or even felt, and then get out. It was going to be so easy, it was almost laughable.

I slipped up against the backdoor, checking the thermal once more. Unfortunately, there were two small figures near the door. They were the son and daughter of Alex. Through the relatively thin walls, I could hear their soft voices as they comforted each other from the storm.

"Neica," the younger of the two murmured to her older brother. "I'm scared," she whispered, cringing against him as thunder shook the air.

"It's okay," a young boy reassured.

"When's mama coming home?" the girl asked. "I want her to sing to us."

"She won't be home tonight, but I will sing for you," he told his sister. "Grele, sunt noptile cu stele," his angelic voice floated to my ears.

I _**knew**_ that song. Somewhere, I had heard those exact lyrics. There was something in the back of my head, nagging, practically _**begging**_ to be shown.

"Cand singur esti si-ai vrea mangaieri," the boy continued.

And suddenly, I was somewhere else entirely.

_Thunder crashed through the large, bay windows, while lightning illuminated the dreary and nearly deserted room. The storm was accentuated by my own heavy breathing as I sat up in my bed, clutching my comforter to my chest. Beside me, a raven-haired boy of about ten-years-old had one of his arms around my shoulders; he was like a familiar stranger. Another crash of thunder sent me cowering against the boy's side, his arm tightening slightly._

_ "My mama used to sing me this one song when I was scared," the boy murmured, his voice thrumming through my ear as my head was against his chest. "Grele, sunt nopţile cu stele, când singur esti şi-ai vrea mângâieri," he sang quietly._

_ Instinctively, my hand fisted the familiar stanger's night-shirt, pressing my cheek against his shirt-clad chest. I vaguely realized I was crying, the tears being absorbed into the boy's shirt, but he didn't seem to mind at all._

_ "Dulci ca şi ieri, dar în zadar, te lupţi amar," his singing fell to gentle humming, which in turn faded out until my ears were filled with the thunder of the present._

Furiously blinking several times, I shook away the fabricated scene. That had _**never**_ happened! Not ever! I didn't even know that boy. He was just a familiar stranger. It was all just a coincidence. That was it. Nothing more at all. There was no reason to feel so strongly about a false scene.

Sweeping it all under a rug, I turned back and faced the house. The two kids had fallen asleep during my zone out, and I was incredibly lucky that no one had discovered me at all yet. Now was the time.

Target 870-R was going to be dead by morning.

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

** Okay, so the assassins spoke in Latin, whereas the two kids and the boy spoke in Romanian. I don't know the translations for the Romanian song, but I found it on a pretty reliable site, and so I'm pretty sure it's an actual Romanian song!**

** Bona venatio, soror? – **_**Good hunting, Sister?**_

** Sicut semper – **_**As always.**_

__**Filia – **_**Daughter**_

** Pater – **_**Father**_

**Neica – **_**Brother**_

__**Shout out to everybody that added ****TSC: A Year Without Birdsong**** to their favorites, alerts, or whatever else there is!**

** Woot!**

** Off to type up the next chapter now!**

** Love,**

** ~AvenJackel**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm so excited about this chapter! I've been waiting for this one forever! I think you guys are going to like the end of it too ;)!**

** Thanks to everyone that added ****TSC: A Year Without Birdsong**** to their favorites or alerts! Special thanks to reviewers!**

** zappeli: Actually, the organization was using the Latin language (mostly because Latin's a pretty old language and I thought it sounded cool), but Dick Grayson came from an acrobat family that had Romani heritage, so he's Romani himself and I just sort of assumed that he would've been sung Romani songs by his mom. It's not the most common knowledge, but I've heard about it quite a bit and I looked it up...so I threw it into the mix because a Romani lullaby, I think, makes a great memory trigger! Hope that clears some things up! Thank you for the review!**

** ashley: Just be patient, dearest reader! They'll come into the mix sooner or later! Thanks for reviewing!**

** Raven: I'm really glad you liked the chapter so much! I really liked writing that one! And it's okay that you didn't review! I hate it when internet privileges are taken ****! Thanks for reviewing!**

** Hope you guys love this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

** Disclaimer: Ugh. Nope. No ownership here. Just an anti-social teenage girl with nothing better to do (because home work is way too over-rated)!**

** Please review!**

** Love ya' guys!**

** ~AvenJackel**

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

The door had been unlocked. The children had been fast asleep, no signs of waking up. With just a single drop of poison into Alexander's mouth, and the man's heart was quickly dying. The poison was extracted from a rare tree sap in the Amazon; as soon as it touched the inside of the body, the enzymes attached themselves to the biological composition of organs and began a de-regenerative process.

Within moments, Alexander's breathing had ceased, his mouth parted slightly and his face forever frozen in a state of peace.

It was almost a sick joke when, the next morning, the two kids came to his room to see if their father was awake. There he was, for all the world looking as if he was sleeping, only to have the screams of vanishing innocence as two young children lost their father forever.

I smiled sadly, glancing once more at the newspaper in my hand. At the top, in bold, black, ominous letters, it read: **Civilians Lost to Building Cave-In**. At the bottom of the article, there was the list of names of all the people killed in the accident. One of the names just happened to be Maria Tallik. But I knew this hadn't been an accident, it had been planned by the Boss. This was exactly what he wanted.

This was exactly what _**I**_ wanted.

The Boss had wanted me to stick around, ensure that Alex was, in fact, dead-dead. And, due to my perfect assassination, he was gone for good. Now, with his death spreading through town, I had to take my leave from Romania, heading towards London, where my next contact would meet me.

A private jet picked me up at the nearest airport, and I went to the bathroom to change into some civilian clothes: a long-sleeve hot pink v-neck, dark wash skinny jeans, and some sneakers. Pulling my hair back into a bun, I exited the room and sat at the co-pilot's seat.

By the time we were landing in London, I was feeling tired. But I had no time to sleep. I had no _**urge**_ to sleep. Because whenever I was unconscious, dangerous things happened. Even though I would never remember in the morning, I knew that my sleep was filled with nothing but pain.

It had always been like that, no questions asked. Pain made me stronger. If I could feel the pain that my victims suffered, then I could defeat anything that crossed my path.

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

My contact this time around was a sleazy woman, Madame Illiana, a prune-like lady with tons of inheritance, too much time on her hands, and not enough to do. So she spent her extreme amounts of free time making enemies and then persuading the Boss into sending one of us. Madame Illiana provided quite a bit of money for the benefit of us all, in fact, she was the one that supplied the costs for my own weapons and armor.

The busy April streets of London were packed, filled with a cacophony of cars, buses, people, and dogs in every which way. Even with my casual appearance, I had to force any rising anxiety down. I had a lot of scars, accumulated over my years of fighting, and I had to be careful that they stayed hidden from civilians, as if they saw the angry red scratches or the fading white marks, they could become fearful and potentially give away my status. And that would be very bad.

As the Boss always said, "there's nothing more vicious than a cornered animal". That was a statement which couldn't be truer.

I got on a crowded bus, headed towards the part of the city that Madame Illiana resided in. Since all the seats were taken, I grabbed one of the hand loops and stood near the front of the bus. At one stop, a rude man plowed past me and I scowled angrily in his direction. Glancing at the seat he left, I had all the mind to take it, as my legs were beginning to feel like lead. I took a step in the seat's direction, but then sighed in defeat and chivalrously held my arm out, signaling for the elderly lady behind me to take it instead.

Once back in my spot, I mentally cursed myself. First thinking about Georgia's grandson, then feeling bad for the Romani siblings, and now giving old people my seat? What's wrong with me? Sooner or later I'm going to be known as the "Soft Assassin". And then I'd never get another job again!

My mind kept throwing itself around and around the same conversation. It started off with a strong voice ridiculing my actions with an "Assassins don't help people unless they're helped first!", followed by that really teeny tiny voice murmuring in utter terror "But that doesn't mean assassins can't be compassionate."

I didn't know which voice to listen to.

The bus driver announced the spot I needed to get off at, snapping me out of my delusional reveries. Shaking my head to clear it, I shoved my way through the other people and out onto the cobblestone streets of Madame Illiana's hometown. It was a quaint place, retaining all the historical look and feel that London once had. It was a place for the rich, with huge manors and several boarding schools in the vicinity.

This would be my first time meeting Madame Illiana in person. I knew which manor was hers', the one with an authentic castle-like appearance that for some reason made my chest constrict tightly, as if I was subconsciously missing something...

As I stepped up to the wrought iron gate, it swung open, probably by a remote control. Walking onto the gravel driveway, the gate clanked closed behind me, but I kept my eyes ahead of me as a tall man in a classy black tail-coat came out of the prestigious manor and greeted me.

Something about him felt extremely familiar. I couldn't tell what it was, but it made me feel almost relaxed around the British butler, even though I knew I should've been alert and completely focused.

He escorted me through the expensively decorated halls of Madame Illiana's mansion, past elegant paintings and sculptures, finely tuned grand pianos, and shimmering windows of stained glass. We came up to a white stained double door, which the butler silently opened and held his arm out to usher me in.

A curvy woman with dark brown hair pulled back in sophisticated braids sat with her back to me, stiff-backed in a dark mahogany leather chair behind a matching desk with the awe-inspiring sunlight filtering in through the wide windows.

With a pompous turn of her head, she cast a disdainful look at my face, emerald green eyes skimming across the faint white lines from past scars and the smudges of dirt that I had forgotten to wipe off.

"You're much too young to get the job done properly," Madame Illiana remarked snidely, turning her face away and looking back out through the window.

"Listen you hag," I started coldly, surprising both the strangely familiar butler and the bratty rich person with the venom in my voice. "My Boss sent me for a reason. I'm ten times the man-power of any other whimpering mercenary you could ever find for the same price."

Slowly, she faced me, her eyes now narrowed in skeptical fear. Nodding curtly, she reached down with deft fingers adorned with flashy jewelry and grabbed a large manila folder out of a desk draw, her eyes never leaving mine.

A large manila folder in an elegant mansion with a British butler. Why did that feel so..._**familiar**_?

She set it on the desk before me, now acting cautious. I always found it amusing how disrespecting my contacts always were. And then I showed my colors and they retreated into their puny shells.

With a calloused hand, I picked up the folder and opened it. Inside there were a few papers. On top was a confidential document printed on thick, off-white, legal paper. I pulled it out and my eyes skimmed over it. A lot of information was blacked out, none of it disclosed to people like me. But I did know a few things about my target.

It was a boy, aged fourteen. He was the ward of one of the richest men in the entire world. When I looked at the picture of my target, I narrowed my eyes automatically. There, with neatly arranged black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a casual smile that seemed infectious, was the familiar stranger, _**my**_ familiar stranger.

My target was Richard John Grayson.


	5. Chapter 5

** Whoo! Two chapters in one day! I am on a roll!**

** Anywho!**

** This is just a filler chapter for the most part!**

** Hope you guys like it!**

** Please review!**

** ~AvenJackel**

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

My hands felt uncomfortably clammy as I climbed aboard the private jet. Collapsing down onto a cozy seat that was secluded from the pilot and the staff, I yanked my honey blonde hair out of its bun, letting it brush past my shoulders. I rested my chin on my hand, my silvery-blue eyes searching the faint reflection of myself in the plane window.

I would be landing in Gotham in under six hours. Then, I'd be left on my own to get to Wayne Manor, kill Richard, and get out in one piece. Something was making me feel queasy, and it wasn't the pitching and swaying of the jet. I almost felt..._**bad**_ about what I was going to do. The boy, my familiar stranger, there was just a feeling about him that made me want to protect him, no matter what.

Groaning, I brought my knees up against my chest and laid my forehead on them. With the last ounce of strength I had, I peeked out and glared at my reflection in the window. The Boss wouldn't be proud of my attitude. I was an assassin! An Assassin of Khaos, nonetheless! I couldn't deal with guilt.

My eyes closed of their own accord, and soon my world faded into blackness.

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

_I was at a fair. There were lots of people shouting and laughing carelessly. The smell of cotton candy, funnel cakes, and fresh cut grass wafted through the masses of civilians. All around, the dying light of a summer sun illuminated the vibrant hues and flashing lights on the rides._

_ In my mouth, the final remnants of sticky, sugary cotton candy was melting away as a plush bird, which I faintly recognized as a red-breasted robin, was tucked under my arm. Beside me, my raven-haired, blue-eyed familiar stranger was grinning widely, our hands clasped between us as we hurried off to the next attraction._

_ "Where to now, Kairi?" he laughed, turning to me with an excited glint in his brilliantly beautiful blue eyes._

_ "The Ferris Wheel!" I exclaimed happily, my nine-year-old voice ringing out clearly._

_ "That sounds boring," the familiar stranger rolled his eyes teasingly._

_ "All these rides are boring compared to our ride," I remarked, eliciting a laugh from the boy._

_ "Okay. We can go on the Ferris Wheel," he gave in, leading me through the throng of people in front of us. "Besides, nothing's boring with you around," he added sweetly._

_ Within moments, we were strapped onto the ride and began the slow ascent up, both of us laughing and giggling with child-like joy. Aside from our laughter, we were silent for the ride, content to sit together and stare off into the dazzling city, announcing itself as Gotham, if the signs were anything to go by._

_ By our third time around, the wheel stopped turning to let people on and off, the familiar stranger and I ending up at the very top._

_ The boy turned to me with a quiet solemnness that I had not seen from him before. "Kairi," he started, his eyes searching mine desperately for something I could not discern. "We'll always be partners, right? No matter what?"_

_ "Of course," I assured him genuinely. "No matter what we go through, we'll always be the best of partners."_

_ My familiar stranger smiled at me softly. "Thank you, Kairi." He leaned in, and before I could do anything, his lips pressed tenderly to my cheek before shyly retreating away, a dapple of pink blush creeping onto his cheeks._

_ A warming sensation filled me all the way down to my toes, pleasantly filling me with a bubbly lightness. Quickly a smile smothered everything else on my face, and I couldn't stop myself as my hand grabbed his of its own accord and I scooted closer to him._

_ "You're welcome, D-"_

I sat up in my seat, my breath coming out harsh and labored. My head was spinning at a million miles an hour, and I couldn't help the feeling of despair that threatened to nearly crush me once my mind realized that my dream had all been some sort of sick joke.

Standing up abruptly, I nearly toppled over as I forced myself into the bathroom, turning on the reserve water and splashing ice cold water into my face. I clutched at the edges of the counter and scowled angrily into the mirror.

Look at pathetic old me. Getting so worked up over a boy I didn't even know. Imagine what the Boss would think if he saw me like this. No, get a grip on yourself. Kairi wasn't even my name! Not even close! My name was Sutton Marie Kastry! Definitely _**not**_ Kairi.

I only let my mind think over the dream for a few seconds more, until a rocking of the jet sent me tumbling into the side of the bathroom. Within moments I had forgotten the contents of my dream, remembering only the sense of anger I felt at myself for allowing my mind to come up with such delusions.

Shoving myself off the ground and throwing the door open, I stormed out of the tiny bathroom and made my way towards the cockpit. Without announcing myself, I found myself by the pilot.

"What the hell are you doing?" I seethed, my arms crossed angrily over my chest. "Flying a plane or playing games," I demanded, my voice dangerously angry.

"Sorry, ma'am," the pilot ducked nervously. "The winds are rather turbulent outside."

"I'm not one that cares much for excuses," I snapped.

"Of course not, ma'am," he agreed. "I promise, it won't happen again," he tried to assure me.

"Well, I would hope not, Mr. Till," I remarked coldly. "Or else I may just end up having to fly this by myself," I threatened, pulling a wickedly sharp blade out of my pocket and trailing it delicately across the pilot's throat, not hard enough to actually hurt him, but enough to scare him.

"S-So sorry," he gulped.

I rolled my eyes, repocketing my knife. "Just don't annoy me like that again," I turned my back to him and returned to my seat, staring blankly at the window and trying much too hard to get the anger of the forgotten dream out of my head.

Only one more hour until I was in Gotham. And then Richard Grayson was going to die.


	6. Chapter 6

** Hello again everyone! This is AvenJackel (...duh!) with a new chapter of ****TSC: A Year Without Birdsong****!**

** I hope you guys all like this chapter! I know I did!**

** Thanks to everyone that added this to their favorites, alerts, and reviewed!**

** zappeli: I'm sorry you don't like fluff! But, I'm a girl...I like fluff...I'll try to keep from a minimum...no promises though...And I love your idea! I'll take it into consideration, but I have my head cramp-packed with ideas right now! Thank you for reviewing!**

** Misakirox: Thank you for the review! Glad you like the story so far!**

** Please enjoy and review!**

** ~AvenJackel**

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

I kept telling myself that the only reason I knew Gotham so well was because I had studied my maps. Every time I came to a cross-roads, it felt as if I subconsciously knew where I was, whether I wanted to or not. Surely this phenomenon was merely from my exceptional directional skills.

The roads were desolate, aside from the countless groups of homeless strangers and bothersome gangsters. All around me, the cool spring wind whipped about, the moon casting its luminous glow down upon the dingy streets. The last time I had been around a place like this, it had been one of my tests. I had had to go out and kill as many people out on the street as I could without getting caught and before the sun came up. I had gotten the highest score yet, with more than twenty in one night.

Keeping my chin up, I calmly made my way through all the people, never bothering to slow my brisk pace or give the pathetic people time to catch my attention. From behind me, a dirt-stained hand clasped my shoulder firmly, pulling on it and forcing me to turn around.

Before me was a young man, probably in his mid to late twenties, with a mischievous smile creeping up on his face. His dark brown hair was scraggly and covered with grease and mud, a stubbly beard not much better hanging off his chin.

"Why hello there, little girl," his rancid breath brushed across my face, causing my nose to scrunch up. "Have you come here to play with me?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "How old do you think I am?" I snapped viciously, crossing my arms angrily. "I'm a goddamned fourteen-year-old, not some mindless toddler you can play out your fantasies with!" I spat, disgusted by what the man wanted to do with children. I'd dealt with people like this before. Whenever something like this happened, I always took care of things before any sleazebag went too far.

The threat of an oncoming hand brought me to a relaxed posture, cocky smirk finding its way across my cheeks, and I expertly caught his wrist in a tight hold a few inches from my face. He seemed surprised, but I didn't give him time to act upon it, quickly flicking the wrist and forcing it behind the man with his hand between his shoulder blades.

He yelped in pain. I could've just left it at that, just have let the man run off with absolutely no harm done to him. But I wouldn't. Instead, I brought up my foot, kicking him in the back so that I heard three simultaneous cracks. Only after I had effectively broken those three ribs did I release my hold on him.

Falling to the ground in pain, he groaned and struggled to drag his way over to the alley, where I assumed the rest of his gang was. I stepped on his back, eliciting a moan of pain from the prone figure, before leering over him.

"Ever try to pull something like that again, and you _**will**_ regret it," I muttered darkly.

I swiftly turned on my heel, the one on his back, and strode away, calmly ignoring the sick feeling that boiled in the pit of my stomach.

It took only five more minutes of walking to reach my checkpoint. I stopped in a deserted subway station, one that was littered with spray cans and rat droppings, and used the bathroom to change into my suit. Within moments I was back out on the street, this time as a different person, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in an almost familiar fashion.

Now, I was a Follower of Khaos. And I would do whatever it took in order to please the Boss.

Unfortunately, that involved killing an innocent rich boy. _**No**_, make that _**fortunately**_. Yeah, that was what I meant.

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

Wayne Manor was a huge, almost castle-like structure with a wide, well-cared for garden and a pleasant mixture of intimidation and solitude coming from the place. The windows were wide, gaping, and luxurious, allowing the moonlight to filter in and blanket the spacious rooms.

In one said room, a young raven-haired boy sat at a mahogany desk, leaning back and reclining in a leather chair. His bright blue eyes were trained on the ceiling above him, as a look of melancholy gathered about his features.

That boy was Richard John Grayson, the ward of Bruce Wayne.

And that boy was who I was sent here to kill.

It could've been the way he innocently relaxed in the darkened room, used to the icy fingers of nighttime. Or it could've been how occasionally his eyes flickered and lingered on the pictures settled on his desk, covered from my view. For all I cared it could've just been the way the boy smiled softly to himself, lost to all the world save for the memories in his head.

No matter the reason, I felt an unfamiliar sense of frozen dread at the task before me. I was most definitely caught between a rock and a hard place. If I killed this boy, I wasn't sure I could live with myself. He was the youngest target I'd ever had. But, if I _**didn't**_ kill the boy, then the Boss would surely punish me.

That settled it then. Besides, the boy was nothing important to me. He was just some fancy-pants rich kid that probably didn't even know the difference between a shotgun and a sniper. I couldn't risk the Boss' wrath, especially over something as pathetic as not wanting to kill a target.

I brought my face down towards my sniper, positioning everything so that I got a perfect view of everything in the room, my eyes focused on the boy.

As if sensing the eminent doom, he stood up, shuffling up to the window and gazing out across the moonlit garden. There was a second, just a second, where the entire world stopped moving as the familiar stranger's eyes made contact with my own. My breath was labored, my heart hammering against my chest painfully. What if he noticed me? And yet the boy's eyes skimmed past my figure lazily, hardly realizing just what was going to happen to him.

I let out a slow breath and shivered, squeezing my eyes shut as I willed my body to regulate its frantic reaction. It took me several deep breaths until I assured myself that I could finish my mission.

Refocusing my eyes on the image before, I took a large swallow of my own saliva, forcing it all past the lump in my throat. My finger lay on the trigger, delicately brushing the material as I trained my shot at the boy. A burning sensation tingled through my fingers; they were itching for me to pull the trigger, yet at the same time trying to pry themselves away from the gun.

Taking one last look at the boy I was about to kill, I checked to make sure that my sniper was aimed at him. Then I closed my eyes, knowing that would make the kill easier. I made a split-second decision. My hand twitched, just as I felt it should.

Everything else happened in a quick succession: the muffled silence of a sniper, the crashing of glass, the thump of a body, and my ragged breathing as I raced from the Manor with tears threatening to overtake my vision.


	7. Chapter 7

** Hello again! Thank you all for reading this far!**

** Shout out to everyone that added the Sparrow Chronicles to their favorites or alerts! Special shout outs to those who reviewed!**

** Keepmovingforward: I know! So intense! Thanks for the review!**

** zappeli: Gotta love plot twists, and that wasn't even the biggest one yet! ;) Well, about Jason, I know he's the next Robin, but at the moment, Dick Grayson is still only fourteen. He didn't go from Robin to Nightwing until he was about 18, and that's when Jason became Robin. Thank you for reviewing!**

** DeanWinchester3: I'm just so evil, aren't I? But poor Dickie-bird will be fine!...eventually...! Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

** Hestia28: Well, she's an assassin...and he was her given target...so that's why! Thank you for the review!**

** Disclaimer: I don't own anything (no matter how many times I ask Santa Clause for ownership...).**

** Warning: Mild contents of violence. You have been warned.**

** Hope you guys like it!**

** Please review!**

** ~AvenJackel**

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

By the time I stopped running, my head was pounding in time with my heart, while my feet bled from the blisters that had popped from the irritation. Black spots danced in front of my eyes as I collapsed heavily against a building's side, my bag scraping against the brick. Forcing my shaking knees to my chest, I ignored the suffocating feeling it gave my lungs and wrapped my arms around myself, resting my forehead on my knee and curling in on myself.

I knew I'd have to face if, that I'd have to face _**him**_. No matter what I did now, nothing was going to end well for me. I had made my decision. And, even with the shattering fear that drenched me head to toe, I knew that I wouldn't have changed that moment for a trillion dollars.

It was chilly outside, the brick wall and the concrete ground sapping what warmth was left in my arms and legs. With a shudder, whether from the goosebumps or my own conscience I couldn't tell, I gratefully fell over onto my side, my breathing still harsh as I shifted into the fetal position. My cheek was flattened across the concrete, and I vaguely noted how the gravel chilled my face, even through the material of my mask.

Sooner or later, they'd come and find me, curled up like the pathetic and weak assassin that I was. There was no use in hiding, no use in running, and no use in fighting back. The Boss himself would personally make sure I paid for what I had done.

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

Sure enough, within the hour, I was surrounded by well-toned bodies, each one of them clad in skin-tight black suits, the backwards red 'K' of the Boss's insignia blazing across their chests. They loomed over me with haunting stances, all of us knowing that the absolute inevitable was about to happen.

My eyes flickered from each of their faces, finding no traces of expressions from behind the blank masks that adorned my brothers and sisters. Swallowing past the growing lump in my constricted throat, I stayed on the ground, dragging my eyes away and glaring over at a single brick in the back of the alley I was in.

The tallest of the figures, who I recognized as a brother that had come from the European branch, stepped towards me. Nowadays, the brother before me was one of the select few that personally worked with the Boss on the hardest and toughest jobs in the business.

"You do realize what this means," he murmured, his deep voice carrying across the gap between us.

"Of course I do," I muttered, eyes trained on the brick. "I'm no fool."

"That is debatable," he commented darkly. "Either you follow us, or we will _**make**_ you come."

"What am I, a dog?" my remark came dryly, all signs of my past fear being locked away as I gathered myself up and stood to my full height (a whopping five foot two).

"We are all dogs of the Boss," my brother corrected me. "Or are you in the mood for _**equality**_, little girl?"

Scoffing harshly, I turned over my shoulder and sauntered off to where I knew our ride was. Instantly, the others were surrounding me, all of us falling into step as we got closer and closer to the terror that awaited me.

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

"You have failed, girl," came the dark voice of the Boss.

"Apologies, Master," I bowed my head in defeat. My voice came out strongly, with a calm monotone, but on the inside I was shivering, my eyes flickering about the pitch-black cellar as I struggled to relax my frayed nerves.

"Apologies!" he spat, his tone like liquid venom as a calloused hand connected to my cheek, sending me onto my side against the icy coldness of the cellar floor. "This is not the time for _**apologies**_," he grabbed my throat, holding me up to be eye-to-eye with him, although I saw nothing through the inky blackness around us.

His hand tightened its hold on my neck and I couldn't help the involuntary jerk as my hands and feet attempted to free themselves from the rough bindings that cut deep into my skin, sticky red blood flowing down my wrists and ankles.

"It was your _**job**_," the Boss ridiculed, tossing me to the solid ground as if I were a piece of trash. My head collided painfully with the ground and I cringed back as I heard the Boss's heavy metallic click of his boots as he stepped towards me. "I gave you that job and you ruined it!"

I struggled to get back from him, skidding across the frozen ground, but a boot clad foot stomped down on one of my bound ankles, a sickening crack resounding through the enclosed area. With a suppressed shudder, I tugged my foot away from him.

"We were so close to killing that brat, and you _**missed**_!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "You know the rules to our society," the Boss added in a quieter voice. His voice was closer, so I assumed he had crouched down to face me.

It was in an automatic response that I found myself answering. "Someone's always got to pay the price," I murmured.

"Well, Richard Grayson sure isn't going to by himself," the Boss accused. "And you understand what that means, right?" he mumbled in my ear, sending an uncontrollable shiver down my spine.

He left my side, only for the sound of a heavy chain dragging across the floor to assault my ears. I flinched back as the sound got closer, until the linked metal chains were wrapped around my neck, pressing through the skin and causing dribbles of blood to roll away from the wound, both inside and outside.

Blood forced its way up my throat, and I hacked it up to the side, part of it splashing against my pale cheek and splattering my nose. A rough hand, undoubtedly the Boss's, grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me to my battered knees, dragging me across the floor.

My hands, which had been forced together behind my back, were hung up on a steel hook with my shoulders being twisted upwards from the move. A jerking motion hooked my feet to another hook so that I was stretched out, facing the wall with my heaving chest brushing against it with every rise and fall. With my face leaning against the wall, I squeezed my eyes shut and tensed up, already knowing what was coming.

There was the slithering of something along the floor behind me. Then a cracking of a leather whip before the scorching pain rushed up along my spine, covering my eyes with smothering red. My bare toes curled in on themselves and I pressed my forehead against the wall. I could feel the blood dripping down my scarred back and I fought back the threatening tears.

It took a lot not to scream out. But it took even more for me to convince myself that I had done the right thing. It had been a split-second decision. Without a moment's hesitation, I had shifted my hand to the right, setting the sniper just a few inches off from my target. The bullet had hit not three inches from Richard's arm.

I had purposefully missed my target. And now I was the one that was paying the price.


	8. Chapter 8

**~Robin~**

It had been a normal day. First, Alfred had made me a breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs (my favorite) before he had left for a visit to England. Then it had been off to Gotham Academy where I met up with Barbara. Afterwards, I spent several hours with the Team at Mount Justice (Wally cracking jokes left and right, as per usual), only to return back to the Batcave for some intensive training with Bruce until we were off for an all-night patrol.

It had been a disastrous day, heavy on the dis. The very thought of eating breakfast left my stomach clenched painfully. Barbara only got on my nerves, not understanding a single thing I happened to be thinking about. All of Wally's jokes were half-hearted and everyone's eyes were always downcast. Training was, once again, filled with nothing but die-hard silence as Bruce and I tried to get any frustration we could out while working our butts off to take each other down. And then, after all the work I did, Bruce sent me home early!

'You need to calm down, Richard,' he'd said.

'I am calm,' I retorted, although not using my calm voice was definitely a mistake.

So, even though I had been following orders like the good bird I was, I was forced back to the Batcave. Even as I muttered sourly to myself and changed back into my civvies, I knew I couldn't really blame Bruce. Ever since...the Incident...he hadn't been the same. Well, none of us had been the same. But Bruce was certainly suffering more than most of the others.

Since the Incident, Bruce had kept the League under a tight, almost obsessive watch, the Team close to home, and me even clos_**er**_ to home. At even the slightest sign of trouble, whether it came from a rabid raccoon or a spastic squirrel, Bruce would order me home.

At first, I had been stupid enough to argue.

It had been a lost cause, though. My arguing skill only went so far. I held my own when it came to hero affairs, but dealing with Bruce had usually been..._**her **_task. I didn't want to push Bruce. He's one of the only people I had left. If I lost him, whether to death or just to our own stupidity, I don't think I could go on.

Yeah. It sure was getting hard.

Settling down at Bruce's chair, my fingers tapped on the keys, automatically setting up the two-way radio system between Batman and me. He was patrolling along Crime Alley, following up on a lead that would supposedly give us (more like _**him**_) insights on the Penguin's whereabouts. I had my suspicions about the informant Batman was following up on. He was just some lowly thug that 'used' to work under the Penguin, but had chosen to 'come clean' and 'help us out'. Bruce thought it was worth a shot to try and get the information. Nowadays, Bruce was getting more and more reckless. I was beginning to believe that the only reason Bruce got up in the morning was because I was still too young to hold my own.

"Found anything yet?" I wondered, suppressing the yawn that threatened to overtake me.

I merely heard a grunt in reply. What he really meant was: _'Shouldn't you be sleeping?'_

"I'm going to take that as a no," I nodded to myself. Only more Bat-Speak: _'Why won't you tell me?'_

There was a short pause, the scuffling of feet against concrete, labored breathing of others, and the thud as their unconscious bodies hit the ground.

_"Robin,"_ Batman started over the radio. _"Go to bed,_" he ordered me. I opened my mouth to argue, but he beat me to the punch. _"I can handle tonight by myself. You go and get some rest. And that's an order."_

The radio connection clicked off before I could do anything about it. With an angry exhalation of breath, I hastily stood up and ran up the stairs. Bruce was pushing me away again. It was like it was his defense mechanism. When things got bad, he isolated himself from everyone else. He was acting like he was all perfectly fine. I wasn't convinced. In fact, I was more vinced than anything!

Shuffling up and out of the grandfather clock, I numbly made my way through the desolate and dimly lit Manor. The place used to be my home. It used to be where I could run around, goof off, be _**myself**_, with my closest friend right there beside me. But that had been ripped away from me.

Opening the door to my empty feeling room, I left the lights off and collapsed in the chair at my desk, allowing the soft glow of the moon filtering through the windows be my only disturbance. The moonlight cascaded against the pictures lining my desk, creating a delicate shimmer about the frames.

I allowed a sigh to escape my lips, resting my arms on my desk with my chin on my hands. Swallowing back the tears, I found that I had lost myself in the memories that the pictures brought on. In the first picture, I stood with my hands on my hips, barely nine-years-old, my parents on either side of me with my aunt, uncle, and cousin beside us. The next picture was of me and Bruce from when he tried to take me fishing. Emphasis on the _**try**_, as neither of us were able to catch a thing (unless you count a cold).

But it was the last picture that was the hardest to face every day. I couldn't just get rid of it, or hide it for that matter. That would've been wrong. The last picture was of me and _**her**_ at the beach when we were younger. Alfred had taken it for us after I had started a sand war with her, the grainy substance spilling out of both of our hair.

A sad smile found its way to my lips as I reached out and picked the picture up, gliding my fingers over the glossy finish of the coating. Without my knowledge, a shining tear cascaded down my cheek and fell in a tiny puddle right over the picture. I quickly ran my arm across my eyes and roughly set the frame down, immediately getting up and crossing to stand in front of my window.

It seemed I was there for only a few seconds until the shattering of glass surrounded me. Shards of piercing glass crashed against me, a few scraping themselves into my skin and blood spilling onto my clothes. Automatically, I collapsed down to the ground, flattening myself on the carpet and rolling into the corner.

I waited, breath coming out in forcedly calm exhales, for several minutes before daring to crouch and make my way over to the door, barreling through it and leaning beside the wall in the hallway. Bruce was still off on patrol and Alfred had gone off to visit family in England, leaving me on my own. Even though I knew Bruce would be angry to discover that I hadn't told him about the apparent assassination attempt, I wanted to keep it a secret.

Something smelt fishy to me. And I couldn't help but wonder if someone was targeting the Bat Family...

Sucking up everything I'd been holding in for the past two months, I brought myself to shaky legs and turned to the closed door on my right. There was something that I could practically _**feel**_ behind that door, and I knew that now was the time to check it out. For the first time in two months, I turned the doorknob to that room and I stepped into Kairi's room.

******YOUNG JUSTICE******

** Okay, so I tried something new this time! I actually really like this idea, but I will be sticking with mostly Kairi POV chapters (expect about a 7:1ish ratio of Kairi:Dick chapters). I'm only going to stick with adding in Dick's POV for now (although MAYBE I'll add someone else later on).**

** So, thanks to everyone for reviewing, favoring, and adding!**

** Tell me what you guys think!**

** ~AvenJackel**


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